I am a metaphor for a doorway.
Standing under the transom, looking forward, turning back
The between, a what’s to come and a what has been
This inflection point, on a fulcrum
The moment the see-saw parallels the earth
June, the month of a death and of a birth
Not a circle of life but an oval.
Feeling narrow and squeezed in the middle, middle age, midlife
On either side of the doorway
This before and after
I pivot, swivel, and sink
Stepping through from spring to summer into the dewy grass
Feeling with my own hands the ashes I let go of a year ago, how gravity, force of will, love drew them together to form another perfect being
I hold her
This new body.